…so
simplistic, but so chaotic, our dreams confused with poetry: this prose magnet,
this silent manic, this salvaged human being: at tears with logic, at tears
with psychs, or abandoned by life: that inner miracle, brought to knees,
wailing at sanity: this fragile
creature, this inner binocular, those early morning brain calls: as men livid,
searching out dynasties, looking for one precious queen: at glasses foggy, at
fog traipsing, at frigid women convinced of purities: that fair fight, this
frightened damsel, this fleeing machine: our army warzones, this field of
psychology, our midnight teas: as granny wars, as mother combats, our sons
looking morbid: to grin with passion, relaxed through deaths, to receive
abandoned admiration: our gruelish cries, this amen fever, this logos infatuation:
at vajrayana, this forwarded thunder,
those clasps mid our moons: our eyes watering, our bowels grumbling, our
stomachs convulsing…. I met a scream,
this whisper in mirrors, a bit rebuked internally: this lost father, this found
daughter, this vengeance for mother: our subtle scents, our deep incense, our
light-bulbs flickering mystic dynamite—as fair creatures, alive for seconds, to
guzzle a pint of Hennessey—this frown in survivors, this whistle in monsters,
or Gucci so sweet we perish: our suede suits, our Giovanni networks, our Fossil
fantasies: if but a man, than but a fool, while Love appears as perfect: that
old Proverb, those hellish meals, our drool dripping into our peas: our Prada
women, so alive at pains, while it felt good to visit insanity: this sheer release, this chief of forgiveness, or those
remorseful remnants: our slanted compass, this inward clock, while Love seems
so confused: to aim for clarity, our something that isn’t right, our dreams splattered upon sky-ceilings: those dark alibis,
this dark haven, this old warlock: at too many rituals, at too many dungeons,
to realize that life becomes bars: this patient maniac, this social aberrant,
or fooled into thinking with solace: this uncomfortable zone, this inner
grandfather, to remember mother so elated: our twist through churns, our rivers
drying out, our epiphanies seeming illusions: this pavement concrete, so watery
with venom, while sinking we swim as monsters: our leviathans, that geisha
smile, or magnets searching for closure.
…such risky business, or funny business, to invest fifty years in one
person: this dream, this fulfilled reality, this constant renewal: to scream at
biotin, our nails so electric, our
mane to our shoulders: those red highlights, those brown tips, while Love did
such for admiration: those tight blouses, those fitted denims, or those fancy
Clarks—at séance infusion, this effusion of emotion, or those rabid vibrations:
our collectiveness, or those rare occurrences, or this midnight shock: to
ponder deeply, that intellectual shampoo, or those intuitive conditioners: as
men gunning, this fortress for taking, our Kingdom suffers violence: indeed,
staring at Love, rebuking Love, at wonders concerning Love’s prowess: this
affectionate creature, this magnet creature, or something so confused we offer
clarity: as bulwarks, as Psalmists, or practical minded metaphysicians—this
fury raging, as something must confess, those years abandoned to street life:
that inner rescue, that fairer religion, that anti-fundamentalist—while charged
for revving, this Bugatti ‘transmitter, this Ferrari prayer-life, or days to an
old Caprice Classic: to keep it simple, this marvelous catastrophe, those
velvety thighs, (at oils so deeply): our cut by egos, our ravished intellects,
to love so richly death was invited…this remarkable teacher, this class of
orphans, where professors answer questions: our ambassador souls, our office
fraught by awards, our mere mention about credibility: as inner criteria, those
beige khakis, that blue vase, (those healing stones): our retinal cries, our interior empiricists,
or long-term mystic officials: this dance with energies, this intimate
Ghost war, at phantoms both agaze’d while aghast’d—those relic scents, this
relic existential, or that perceived
dreamcast…to perish length-wise, to cherish feelings, to awaken gripping rudiments.
